


On the Tokyo Skin Strip

by Magpie_Ravynn



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Other, Robot Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, Robot Thomas Bangalter, Tokyo AU, detective Thomas, pleasure-bot Guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpie_Ravynn/pseuds/Magpie_Ravynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective!robot Thomas au, stationed in Tokyo, overhears a commotion taking place on the dirty sidewalk in front of a robo-skin club.  A small, gold robot getting thrashed around by a tall, thin pimp and his muscle bots.  Thomas sighs.  He's had a long night and it isn't his job.  A horrible crunch rings through the air and the small bot goes down, crying out for help in binary code while the sick fucks laugh, circling him.  Thomas' stomach turns, oils churning.  He couldn't fucking look away one more night and expect to sleep....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took about half an hour which is super unusual for me. Probably due to listening to "In Tokyo" by the Studio Killers.

Detective Bangalter was stationed in Tokyo, exhausted after a long day of busting a ring of narcotic dealers. He was too tired to feel good about it yet. He still had to get home, through the worst part of town, while still keeping his undercover profile for safety reasons. Shouts began to crescendo a block down the street, he didn't think much of it until he approached the crowd forming in front of a robo-skin club. Thomas could see a small, gold robot getting thrashed around by a tall, thin pimp and his muscle bots. He sighed. As if his day couldn't get any longer. This really wasn't his job. A horrible crunch rang through the air and the small bot went down, spinning before falling to the pavment, crying out for help in binary code as the sick fucks laugh stupidly, circling him. Thomas' stomach turned, oils churning. His fists clenched. He couldn't fucking look away one more night and expect to sleep. 

Quickly texting his partner: “If u dont hear from me in 15 come 2 the skin strip. Club Electro Crystal.” He flipped the phone shut, shoving it back in his cell holster and buttoning his jacket to conceal his weapon from the street thugs. Pulling his wide brimmed hat further down his face he approached the slowly growing crowd. The bots had begun kicking the downed pleasure-bot in the stomach, damaging the delicate hardware inside. The bot's visor signals were glitching, garbled words flashing over the screen. “NO-O! STOP-P-P-LEASE-E-E!” It screamed, covering it's face, curled as tightly as it could. The thugs kicked it's back and it arched in pain, opening itself up again for more kicks to the abdomen.

“WHO THE FUCK'S IN CHARGE HERE?” Thomas bellowed, parting the crowd with his long arms.

“Who wants to know?” The pimp signaled to the muscle-bots to pause and they stepped back, lingering near.

“I do. You know you can't treat your pleasure-bots like that, White Duke.” Thomas' vocal output was low, warning.  

“It's BANG-Alter, boys! What's a security-bot doing down here all alone so late in the dark?” White Duke leered, pushing at the trembling gold bot with his boot.

“Who says I'm alone?”

“Spies in the wings? Yeah, sure. Okay fine, you're right. I sure ain't gonna decomish' ya in front of all these nice customers, anyway.”

“Just take care of your property.” Thomas growled, red flashing lights moving across his visor.

“My mistake for taking care of my personal business on the sidewalk.” The Duke signaled to the muscle-bots to carry the golden bot into the club through the alley's back door.

Thomas watched them carefully, meeting their gaze as they glared at him, having cut short their fun. He thought he saw a glimpse of something pass over the small, damaged bot's visor, a blink of recognition, but then they were turning down the black alley and Thomas couldn't see anymore. The thin, White Duke sneered at him as he disappeared into the crowd.  

He swore to look into the club later, make a surprise inspection, plant a drug tip off and bust in, check on that gold robot.

Thomas opened his phone. “All right, Casablancas, I'm fine. Go back to sleep.”

A few seconds later he got a blip. “Yeah fucking right, Thom, u asshole. Stop stepping in where u cant do shit n putting ur ass in danger. JFC GO HOME.”

Thomas shook his head. Maybe he'd get a couple hours of sleep in if he skipped the shower. Grunge covered his clothes and chromed hands, splatters of oil crusted on his helmet. A large job had finished successfully tonight but he wasn't as satisfied as he should be. He felt like going into that club right now and demanding they provide medical attention to that little broken bot. But a lone cop on the Skin Strip past midnight wasn't the best of ideas, he had already noticed more people glancing his way as he walked quickly away from the scene, shadows gathering in the side streets. He straightened his hat and pulled up the collar of his trench, hunching his shoulders. He took a few side routes and ditched the few gang members still on his tail by the time he approached his neighborhood, though he doubled back around just to be sure. Julian blipped him again. “U HOME YET, VENT FILTER?”

Thomas laughed, shutting the door quietly and bolting the locks, throwing his jacket on the floor and collapsing on the couch, fully clothed and smelling like dirty streets.

“Yeh alternator fan.” He sent back quickly before plugging in his charge cord and entering sleep mode. He couldn't afford to power down completely. He hadn't felt that safe since he'd lived in his parents' basement studying for his exams. Nice people, good people, he should call them...

He entered sleep mode, hand falling over the edge of the couch, red light blinking in the dark.

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas stumbled into the precinct the next morning, clutching a cup of coffee, his visual inputs turned down low, filtering out most of the bright morning sunlight. He flopped down into his chair, sending a few papers flying off the desk. Julian bent down to pick them up, patting Thomas shoulder in sympathy before sitting at his own desk next to him. 

“Can you really drink that stuff?”

Small red lights blinked weakly across Thomas' visor before he slowly turned to stare at the cup of coffee in his hand. “Uh, yeah.”

“Does it help?”

“No.”

Julian shook his copper head, laughing.

“Shut it, rookie,” Thomas chided, pushing the drink aside. 

Julian laced his hands together, critically eying his ruffled state. “How did it go last night?”

Thomas rubbed his silver face, “Ah, perfect. Perfectly perfect. Now I have all this paperwork to do, as you know.”

“Yeah yeah, I already started.” Julian shrugged, throwing a folder on Thomas' desk for him. “But we both have to write a report, obviously.”

Thomas nodded, turning his visuals up enough to read the pages as he shuffled through the folder. 

Julian watched him, his bright, wide eyes glowing, his head tilted to the side, artificial ceiling lights gleaming off a perfectly engineered nose, some green growing on the copper edges cuz Julian liked the way it looked. 

“So, are you going to tell me about your detour last night? I thought it odd when you wanted to walk home, who does that? What the hell, Bangalter?” Julian huffed out of his oral vent, crossing his arms.

“I needed the walk,” Thomas waved his hand, chrome plates still dull from city grime.

“AND? What was that text about? Where were you?” Julian beeped at him sternly.

Thomas sighed. “On the Skin Strip.”

Julian stuttered, looking away quickly. “Oh well, all right, whatever you need to release steam I guess...” his voice glitched in embarrassment.

Thomas shook his head, laughing wearily. “Not for that. I don't have to pay for an interface, slow converter.” 

“Hey!” Julian threw a pen at him. “What'd you expect me to think? Okay, so what were you doing there?”

“Looking for a contact, actually. But I found something else,” Thomas trailed off, staring unmoving at the glowing computer screen.

Julian rolled his head, gears clicking. “Fine, don't tell me. Least you could do after waking me up with such a message in the middle of the night...” he grumbled.

Thomas' processors whirred and he shifted in his chair, stretching his legs out under the desk. “Duke was thrashing one of his pleasure-bots, poor thing was getting the bolts kicked out of him, oil leaking everywhere over his gold plating, I just happened to be there. Couldn't ignore it.”

“So you stepped in? By yourself? Not a good ratio for success, Thomas.”

“I just couldn't keep walking!” his voice vibrated. “He was screaming, and no, I couldn't leave it like that. Just because there isn't law enforcement on the Strip at night doesn't mean they can do whatever the fuck they want. We need more officers down there after sunset.”

“We've tried, they're all... they all end up in the Junk Yard,” Julian intoned sadly.

“Well, maybe I'll fucking do it.”

“Unofficially?” Julian's lights flashed in alarm.

“Maybe, if that's what it takes.” Thomas hunched down over the paperwork.

Julian watched him, looking up as commissioner Matsumoto walked out of his office. A large robot, thick metal plates covered by a sharp suit. While most robots were installed with multiple language options, and Julian was fairly certain Matsumoto had about fifty, he primarily spoke Japanese out of respect for his maker's culture.

“Thomas, good work on the bust last night. I'll need the report on my desk in an hour.”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas nodded as Matsumoto passed by.

“So,” Julian spoke after a few moments. “Are you going back to visit your golden lover bot?”

Thomas made a grinding noise. Julian laughed until a calculator smacked him in the face, bouncing off him with a clang.

~~~

Thomas adjusted the collar on his jacket, polished helmet glinting brightly in the afternoon sunlight. He clutched a rolled up newspaper in his hand as the taxi that deposited him on the curb roared away with a plume of exhaust. Thomas cleared his vents of the smell, only to be filled with other, equally unpleasant smells. The Skin Strip was never clean but it was certainly less active midday. Despite fewer people around, bot heads still turned as he approached the club, concealed sensors tracking his movements, Thomas ran continuous scans of the vicinity, monitoring possible threats. Oil moved sluggishly through his tubes as he stepped across the threshold and into the darkened club. His opticals adjusted quickly, compensating for the loss of light input. Fake plants stood in every corner of the small room, two doors and a hallway were the only exits aside from the entrance he just stepped through. Both doors were firmly shut, a counter and desk covered one of the doors, the dark hallway had a curtain of beads glittering like diamonds hanging in front of it. They swayed slightly as if someone had just passed through a minute ago. Thomas' gears clicked as he approached the welcome counter. A crystal dish of breath mints sat there, waiting for the next customer. Thomas tilted his head and rang the sparkling bell. He stood still, waiting for a response from the shut door. When it opened a few minutes later, a short, squat robot waddled out, shutting the door behind him. He sank into the chair with an expulsion of steam, looking up at Thomas with disinterest. 

“How can I assist you today.” He intoned blandly, twiddling with an ear bolt.

Thomas set the newspaper down on the counter and the bot's gaze followed the movement, watching Thomas' hand. 

“I'm looking for a pleasure-bot.”

The robot looked back into his face. “Well yes, that is usually the reason someone comes in here over lunch hour. Not really here for entertainment are you? Something quick before heading back to work?” The round robot flipped open a ledger, scanning down the scribbled notes. “Let me see who is available.”

Thomas clicked softly, taking pictures of the notes in case he needed them later. “Well actually, I have a request.”

The round robot looked up, his finger pausing on the page. “Well of course, sir, that is not a problem. Although, if you call and make an appointment next time we can be sure to have your particular request prepared for you. Who is it you were requesting today?”

Thomas whirred nervously. “I don't know it's name. A small gold bot, with a wide black face, erm...” Thomas tried to remember other distinguishing features that didn't include a fetal posture, curling in pain or a broken helmet leaking oil.

The bot tapped its fingers on the open book. “Ah yes, well that particular bot is not available at the moment. Can I interest you in another?” A catalogue was produced from a drawer, filled with pictures of other various pleasure-bots twisted in provocative positions, some laying on beds, others leaning on walls or lounging in dry bathtubs. Thomas shook his head. 

“No, just that gold bot is what I want today. I'm willing to pay double and throw something in for you too.”

The rotund bot scratched his face, beeping quickly, eyes following his hand as Thomas checked his pocket, obviously palming the cash for the slow bot. 

“All right, let me see what I can do.”

He rose from the chair and disappeared behind the shut door. Several minutes passed. Thomas turned up his auditory sensors and could hear muffled words but they were unclear. He stood in front of the counter, resisting the urge to fidget. He opened the newspaper to scan through the articles he'd already read twice. The door finally opened and he folded the paper up again. The short robot waddled around the counter and beckoned Thomas through the crystal beaded curtain and down the hallway. 

They passed several doors, most everything quiet within, Thomas assumed the day shift was fairly slow, lunch hour had technically passed anyway. The robot stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. He held out his small, stubby hand and Thomas pressed several bills into it. The robot nodded and knocked on the door with a distinct rapping pattern. Thomas memorized it. A knocking from within answered and the round robot scuttled away before the door opened. Thomas turned to watch him disappear in the dim haze. Then the door opened. The gold robot from the night before stood there and Thomas looked over him quickly. Most repairs had been made, only a few scuffs still blemished the chrome helmet. Guy tilted his head, a carefully practiced movement intended to convey demureness as he gestured Thomas to enter.

Thomas crossed the threshold. A few lights glowed in the corners of the room. Colorful scarves and ribbons strewn about the edges, a small bed and a chair, a television and a small bar. Everything perfectly clean and in its rightful place. A few small lights blinked across the gold robot's screen as he shut the door and stood watching Thomas. He appeared to be moving normally. Thomas beeped.

“I saw you last night. You were injured, and I...”

“You stepped in to save me, yeah,” the robot spoke, unimpressed. “Please, sit down.” Guy pointed to the chair.

Thomas sat. “You are repaired.” His hands twisted nervously in his lap.

“Only superficially.” Guy leaned against the wall across from Thomas, his arms crossed. “And I am charged for the damage.” The lights on his visor dimmed.

“Even though they inflicted it upon you?!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Yeah we're indentured servants. Aren't you a cop? I thought you'd know how it works around here.”

Thomas shook his head. “That needs to be stopped.”

“Yeah, sure,” Guy spoke with impatience, “excuse my disbelief but these claims have been made before. We hear those empty promises about once a week from clients who fall in lust or love with us. I really don't care what they want to call it, it's never true.” 

Thomas stood, preparing an indignant reply.

Guy cut him off, pushing away from the wall. “I really don't need to be seen around a cop, like I don't deal with enough shit as it is. I don't care how much you paid, I can't believe they let you in here. That fat secretary is worthless.” The colorful lights on the edges of Guy's helmet lit, flashing in waves.

“Yeah, all right,” Thomas spoke, hands raised, palms outward. “I just wanted to make sure you were repaired properly.” 

“Like I said, they repair us so we look good, whatever's wrong on the inside they let slide until we're unable to function in our nightly services. When a bot isn't requested anymore they don't even bother. They decommission it and use it for parts. Till it's tossed in the junk yard, raped and broken, lifeless and left to rot with the others.” 

Thomas looked away, unable to speak through the anger.

Guy shrugged. “That's life. They gave up, stopped trying. You can be damn sure I'll never fucking give up. I'm gonna get the fuck out of here and be my own master.”

“How long will that take?”

“A few more years. Not long.” Guy beeped, staring at him defiantly.

Thomas tilted his head. “Really? And what about all those fees they keep charging you? Have you calculated those into your plan?” Thomas grabbed Guy's arm as Guy tried to brush past him, his hand clutching the doorknob. 

“I have made room for some variables but I cannot predict every random occurrence over the span of two years. I have to... avoid those situations in the future.”

Thomas' grip stayed firm on Guy's arm. “How can you avoid bullies you work for? They beat you. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I did. I was sloppy. I will stop being sloppy and the Duke won't need to punish me.” His shoulders trembled, held tense, he tugged his arm out of Thomas' hand and flung open the door.

“You don't believe that.”

Guy let go of the doorknob, spinning around to face him. “YES, I do. We all do.”

Thomas tilted his head, placing a hand on Guy's shoulder.

“Fuck off,” Guy brushed him away, flinging open the door and stalking out into the hall. “Get out.” He pointed Thomas towards the exit. A couple shining heads poked out of opened doorways to stare at them. “I don't need to be known as a fucking cop-loving informant so don't come back.”

Thomas hummed, disappointment coloring the sound. Noting Guy's tense posture, he took a last analyzing glance at the bot's quarters before moving past him out into the hallway. Guy's hand snaked discretely around his wrist. “In the fucking middle of the day, are you stupid?” 

Thomas' steps faltered.

“If you come again it better be dark and sometime between three and five in the morning, fuckwit.” Guy released him, glaring blankly down the hall as if he hadn't spoken at all. Thomas beeped, lights flashing as he forced his legs to carry him out of the club, feeling Guy's sensors follow him until he slipped out the front door.


End file.
